


Some People Make It Look Easy

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coffee, Coffee Shops, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate universe short where Klaine meets for the first time on Christmas Eve. Kurt is an intern at Vogue, trying his best to get into NYADA, and has never attended Dalton. <b><a href="http://ourlivesareweird.tumblr.com/post/36781763142/fic-some-people-make-it-look-easy">Reblog on Tumblr!</a></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Some People Make It Look Easy

If there was one thing that Kurt hated about the holiday season, it was the long lines in wait for an afternoon coffee. He wasn’t a Scrooge when it came to celebration. He really wasn’t. The constant clash of bright reds and greens were at least complementary, the longer lines in wait for shopping justified by the discounts waiting for him at the register, and the lights which twinkled and sparkled through the night were charming — but there were absolutely no gains to be had where the Lima Bean was concerned. At least three wailing children clung to frazzled parents ahead of Kurt in line, and although Kurt did his best to offer a wince of sympathy, it was about equally fueled by the headache starting to needle its way into his temples.  
  
He’d long ago succumbed to caffeine addiction.  
  
With his phone woefully devoid of new texts, Kurt usually took to people-watching the patrons in front of him in line. Most fell into archetypes that he remembered well from his own time as a barista. There were the regulars, offering little more than a perfunctory smile before they rattled off their order in the exact way the worker needed to punch it into the machine. There were the dieters, always drawn to the illuminated displays of pastries — odds tended to be roughly equal when it came to whether or not they’d cave to temptation. There were the clueless few, those who mispronounced order sizes, whose brows would raise upon realizing that frappuccinos were frozen drinks probably ill-suited for the wintry weather. Penny pinchers, who never ordered specialty drinks, but instead requested little changes with a wink or sheepish duck, approximating the better drinks at half the price. And, of course, there was the contingent that came out in full force this time of year — the couples.  
  
The scramble for a romantic partner was one that, in Kurt’s opinion, began long before Valentine’s Day. Winter was practically a series of checkboxes to be ticked on the road to romantic fulfillment:

  * Kiss under the mistletoe
  * Kiss by the fireplace (bonus points if managed on Christmas Eve)
  * Kiss on Christmas morning
  * Kiss at the stroke of midnight as the ball dropped at Times Square



  
There were at least half a dozen milestones which came before romance’s heyday — well over a dozen if Kurt dated a nice Jewish boy, if Rachel was to be believed — and Kurt had yet to ever experience a single one.  
  
It shouldn’t have mattered, and yet it did. Because the one concession that Kurt refused to ever verbally acknowledge, but easily felt at the core, was how very much he longed for someone to ease his loneliness. He tried to put it behind him, to focus on getting into NYADA, to work steadily at his internship until he got in — which  _was_  a when, not an if, he repeated to himself in a constant undertone, a motivational mantra. And after a few misguided dates ventured on shortly after settling in New York — Chandler’s overenthusiastic licks down his chin and Paul’s strange tendency to bite on his upper lip stood out as especially memorable disasters — Kurt arrived at the conclusion that looking for romance was too time-consuming, too tiring.  
  
Too disheartening. Some people made it look so easy.  
  
There was no harm in looking, though, as far as Kurt was concerned. Most of the men in line were painfully straight, or at least straight in practice, with women clinging possessively at their elbows and heavy shopping bags clutched in their hands. And even the cutest of boys were little more than pipe dreams enjoyed at the corner coffeehouse. Chance encounters, unlikely to be repeated. Lima was a deceptively populated place, and a city Kurt didn’t live in anymore, and plenty of people circled around for coffee, unlikely to be ever seen again. Those fleeting fancies Kurt enjoyed in line were, ultimately, safe for the lack of expectations.  
  
One boy in particular struck his eye. Well, maybe ‘boy’ wasn’t the right word for him; with broad shoulders and a defined jawline, he sported a classically masculine appearance that anyone could admire. But it was the boyish enthusiasm which stood out best to Kurt, the shine of eyes wide and painted a honeyed gold, a smile heartbreaking in its honesty, and a spring to his step that would have had a lesser man flailing for balance, but not him, calves exercising a remarkable level of control. It was as though he radiated warmth, complexion a faded tan and a flattering red scarf wrapped around his neck. Cashmere, by the looks of it. Probably gifted by a sister, a mother — or maybe a girlfriend, Kurt thought with an unwilling pout. This was  _his_  fantasy, after all. Did he have to go ruining it for himself?  
  
With only a couple of people separating them in line, Kurt was able to pick out all the details, filling them out and wrapping himself in them, blanketed by the warmth. He imagined those full, rosy lips against his own, soft but sure, pliant and slotting smoothly with his own, before occasionally interrupted by a nip against the full curve of the lower lip. Broad shoulders became support for Kurt’s arms, which looped around the boy’s neck, Kurt’s fingers weaving through strands of stubbornly curly hair, which even liberal amounts of gel weren’t able to fully hide. Thick lashes brushed playfully against Kurt’s cheeks, wide hands nestled neatly around Kurt’s waist, and Kurt’s chin raised just so to take advantage of the slight height difference between the two of them, a warm, velvet brush of the boy’s tongue sweeping along Kurt’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine.  
  
“I’ll have a peppermint mocha, please. Medium. And… sure, whipped cream, why not? ‘Tis the season.”  
  
A mixed blessing, for the boy’s voice held exactly as much depth as Kurt had hoped. Deeper than his own, far deeper, but held even and friendly, open and full of laughter without even  _trying_.  
  
 _But_  he’d ordered a specialty drink, sending Kurt’s daydreaming solidly back where it came from. The boy was definitely straight. Definitely taken.  _Definitely_  not a coffee connoisseur.  
  
Kurt’s gaze followed the brunet only a couple of seconds longer —  _what?_  the boy could  _walk_ — before sighing to himself, embarrassment making it that much harder to combat the flush in his cheeks.  
  
Thank  _god_  he had a decent poker face.  
  
“Yes, I’ll have a medium nonfat mocha,” Kurt smiled at the employee, a perky girl with a bright red streak in her otherwise blonde hair, sporting a pair of plush reindeer antlers on her head. “And that’ll be all. My name’s Kurt.”  
  
Feeling the buzz of his phone vibrating in his pocket, Kurt quickly stepped to the side, tugging his navy blue scarf higher around his neck as he leaned by the counter.  
  
“Hey, dude,” Finn’s voice greeted in his ear, a note of apology already apparent in his words. “I really hate to do this, but I think I gotta cancel on dinner tonight. I had some last minute plans come up.”  
  
Kurt smiled. “With a girl?”  
  
“How’d you—”  
  
“It isn’t Rachel, right?”  
  
“No,  _god_  no,” Finne replied, a slight panic in his words at the thought; Kurt suppressed a laugh. “I kinda met someone today at the tire shop. Or, well, her car broke down nearby and I helped her out, and she invited me over for dinner tonight to, like, thank me or something.”  
  
“So you got to play the hero  _and_  got an offer to dine on the second most romantic night of the year,” Kurt summarized, gaze darting towards the ceiling as he imagined the look on Finn’s face, probably shock soon replaced by a sheepish smile. He added in sing-song, “Is she pretty?”  
  
“Yeah,” Finn breathed. “Yeah, she’s really beautiful, and she’s into football and everything. Big Buckeye fan.”  
  
“Go,” Kurt urged softly. “Go have dinner with her; I’ll be fine. But you are completely on your own when it comes to getting a gift for Carole, okay, because I am  _not_  braving these lines for someone who’s just cancelled on a dinner date with yours truly.”  
  
“Yeah, cool,” Finn laughed. “I kinda figured you were gonna say that. Look, Kurt, I promise I’ll make it up to you—”  
  
“ _Go_ ,” repeated Kurt. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
“See you.”  
  
Locking his phone with a click, Kurt glanced up in time to catch the barista looking his way and holding out his coffee. Head already working through the pros and cons of driving through dinnertime traffic, Kurt distractedly took the cup in hand, hovering again by the counter.  
  
He was happy for Finn, he really was. But, again: some people had it so easy.  
  
Taking a sip of his drink, Kurt immediately cringed at an overwhelmingly sweet, minty taste flooding his mouth, nearly coughing as he glanced at his cup in horror.  
  
“Excuse me,” he called out, frowning as he approached the barista. “Excuse me, I think you may have gotten my order wrong.”  
  
Before the frazzled employee could respond, balancing a pitcher of steamed milk, a flash of red appeared at his side.  
  
“I’m Blaine,” the boy from earlier greeted, looking even more gorgeous from so close a distance, cheeks flushed red from the cold and hand outstretched.  
  
Dumbfounded, Kurt was mortified to realize that he was  _smiling_ , mouth agape for a couple of seconds before he finally thought to reply. “Kurt,” he breathed, hand closing around Blaine’s for a soft shake.  
  
Blaine immediately laughed, his eyes shining and revealing a slight greenish tint that had gone unnoticed earlier by Kurt. “It’s nice to meet you, Kurt,” he replied, shaking Kurt’s hand firmly. “I actually meant, um, that I’m  _that_  Blaine.”  
  
Only after pointing to Kurt’s cup, where Blaine was written on the side in black ink, did realization finally dawn upon Kurt.  
  
He wouldn’t have minded if the earth opened up and swallowed him whole right then and there.  
  
“Oh my gosh, I’m  _so_  sorry,” babbled Kurt, placing the cup down as though burned. “I just got off the phone with my brother and didn’t think to check the name, since they always get mine wrong, and oh no, I feel terrible—”  
  
“Hey, relax, it’s okay,” Blaine reassured, tugging at the lapel of Kurt’s coat before patting him heavily on the shoulder. “It happens.”  
  
Still grinning, Blaine reached out for the abandoned drink and took a sip.  
  
Kurt startled. “Oh, no — I already had a drink from that, you shouldn’t—”  
  
Blaine glanced down at the cup. “Are you sick?”  
  
“…no.”  
  
“Do you have cold sores?”  
  
“ _What?_  No!”  
  
Again, there was that stomach-flipping smile. “Then it doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” concluded Blaine, raising a brow as he took a deeper drag from the cup. From the side, the barista pointedly handed Kurt his drink, which Kurt accepted with a sheepish nod.  
  
“Well, I guess as they say,” Kurt breathed. “Waste not, want not.”  
  
“Exactly,” Blaine nodded, before his gaze dropped down, lips parted in thought. “Say, I… know this is a long shot, but I couldn’t help overhearing you on the phone earlier. My brother’s also in town and also happened to bail on me, and I have a reservation for two at the Cheesecake Factory. Would you care to join me?”  
  
Kurt blinked. Three times, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.  
  
He wasn’t.  
  
“…I’d love to.”


End file.
